For My Own
by Elessar1201
Summary: Everyone knows that Carlisle has never slipped...right? But whatever else he is, Carlisle is a vampire with all the instincts and temptations of his kind. What will happen when he finally has to face his own nature?
1. Chapter 1

**For My Own**

**Chapter 1**

Edward suspected something was amiss when we hunted that night, but I had a great deal of practice concealing my true nature, even from those I lived in intimate closeness with. I did my best to mask my thoughts, letting them drift through my head woven among more mundane and immediate thoughts…monitoring patients, monitoring Esme, considering whether our time in Wisconsin was drawing to a close. Unfortunately, while I had learned to mask my thoughts from both Edward's gift and his uncanny insight, I had yet to master masking the fact that I was masking.

Therefore, I knew that Edward knew that I had something on my mind that I was as yet unwilling to share, but I did not think he knew what it was. Edward was not intrusive; he strove to give me, and now Esme, as much privacy as possible. Edward was not only smart and talented, he was also good. How fortunate I was that fate had brought him to my life.

"Please," Edward said, rolling his eyes at my effusiveness. I laughed quietly. By unspoken agreement, we shifted direction slightly to track closer to Esme.

Esme was leading the hunt, because Edward and I still felt she should practice, and neither of us felt quite confident about leaving her alone. She was trying hard, eager to learn enough control that she wouldn't be a burden to Edward and me. As though she could be. Nevertheless, we had to be vigilant…and I, especially, had to be vigilant. Edward was remarkably controlled for a vampire of only two years, but up here in the plains of Wisconsin, the wind blowing across the prairie could carry a human scent for miles. Somehow, having the lake so nearby seemed to intensify that effect. And Esme, of course, was so young, only a few months old. I didn't want either of them subjected to more temptation than they could withstand.

"I think she's scented something," Edward murmured. "To the northwest…" He sighed heavily. "Deer."

I chuckled. Deer wasn't my favorite, either, but dinner was dinner. The hunting wasn't terribly varied here in the northern Midwest, though if the timing was right, we might encounter wolves or even a black bear. If we felt like traveling, we'd pursue the bison herds further out in the plains, but those occasions were rare; there were fewer and fewer of those great beasts left these days. Still, they made for a much more satisfying meal than the other prairie animals we so often encountered.

I shuddered at the thought of soft, gentle Esme fighting a bear or a bison or great grey wolf—even if I knew intellectually that she couldn't be harmed. She would be fine, I told myself for the hundredth time, even if we did encounter a bear.

"Don't worry," Edward snickered. "It's not a bear. I only wish."

How easily my new son saw through me. I prided myself on my ability to reason past my emotions, no matter how strong or insistent they became, to make choices based on logic and the greatest good. And if vampire logic included certain factors that human logic didn't, well, that was logical, too. For us.

Nevertheless, my instinct to protect Esme nearly overwhelmed all other considerations. It wasn't logical at all; she was actually stronger than I was right now, stronger even than Edward, and would be for some time to come. It was extremely frustrating. I had never felt emotions quite like this before, and try as I might, they didn't always respond to the logic I tried so hard to apply.

Nothing would demonstrate that more clearly to either of us than the question I was about to ask.

_Edward?_ I thought. His head snapped over, paying attention to my verbal silence. Esme was a couple hundred yards ahead of us, but I usually made an effort to speak aloud most of the time—a habit I'd fallen out of since Edward joined me—so that she wouldn't feel left out.

Because the thought of causing Esme pain was utterly unbearable to me.

_I want to ask you to do something for me._ I thought carefully. _Something I cannot do for myself. However, I'm afraid you might find it distasteful._

Edward's eyebrows raised in surprise. I could see why. I had always been the one to help him, first through those difficult newborn months, then in finding his feet as a person in the world of myths. He was a great help to me, more than he ever realized, I think, but still, I had never asked him for a favor like this. I was not at all sure it was the right thing to do.

His chin raised and he took a deep breath, swelling his chest. He seemed proud that I had asked him. My own thoughts filled again with pride in him; he was a better son than any man could hope for or deserve. I smiled.

He rolled his eyes at my affectionate distraction. "What is it, Carlisle?"

_I need to know more about Esme's husband,_ I thought, grimacing at the thought of that hateful creature. _She won't tell me anything. She doesn't want to talk about it…and I can't bring myself to persist in asking when those memories are so painful to her. I'm afraid it will entail traveling to Columbus. Do you mind?_

Edward sighed. This was an old argument between us. He didn't think that Esme was still married; after all, she was legally dead, and besides, she was a vampire. Our kind didn't marry humans, he'd scoffed. Couldn't. It was impossible, so Esme and this Evenson character couldn't be married.

But I couldn't see it that way, because whatever the current state of her life, Esme was not dead. She was as vibrant and alive as anyone I'd ever known. The tension of not knowing, of not acting, was becoming unbearable.

The truth was that I wanted Esme for myself. I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything. She hadn't been out of my thoughts for the whole decade since I'd first met her when she was barely more than a child, but now, having her in my house, feeling her gentle touches and seeing her sweet smiles, talking with her for hours at a time, my feelings had deepened and grown.

Somehow she had become necessary to me, to my happiness, to my well-being. I knew now that I would love her until the end of my existence, but that love had made me greedy, for I wanted not just the brush of her hand but the feel of her skin. Not just her smile, but her ecstasy. Not just getting to know her, and she me, but to know each other in the deepest places of body and soul. I felt that I would do anything, give anything, to have that.

I hadn't known I was capable of that kind of love, but I wanted her for my own, forever. And any future where I couldn't have her felt too desperately wrong for me to contemplate.

But I could not begin the life I wanted with her while there was any chance she that was still bound to another man. Our life would never be free of doubt, of guilt, of the fear that we had stolen something we had no right to possess. At least, it wouldn't for me.

Though I had strong desires for her, my love was pure and true, and I was determined that it would remain so. If there was anything human left in creatures such as Edward, Esme and me, we must honor the commitments and responsibilities we made when we were more human than we were now.

"I understand that, Carlisle," Edward murmured. "But Esme's trying to leave him behind; why won't you?"

We jogged slowly now, approaching Esme cautiously, careful not to startle her while she was seeking prey. A sudden move could cause her to turn her predatory attentions to one of us.

_At least I can be sure she doesn't harbor any feelings for him,_ I thought with a vicious kind of triumph. _She seemed both disgusted and afraid when I tried to ask about him._

Edward growled low in his chest, and I felt an answering growl vibrate in my throat. Edward had told me what he had seen in her memories. That man had hurt her, my precious Esme …I shuddered, my growl growing louder, as the unfamiliar red haze of rage clouded my vision. He had _hurt_ her…

When Esme had awakened, so frightened and wild, Edward and I had stayed with her every moment. Together we had taught her how to hunt, helped her find her self-control, and tried to show her she could trust us. But Edward had slowly withdrawn from Esme, putting distance between them whenever he could, and when he was with her, his eyes turned bleak and furious.

He hadn't wanted to tell me, but I convinced him that we needed to know as much as possible in order to help Esme in her new life. I had been concerned, and I am embarrassed to say, curious, about Esme's life in the ten years our lives had followed different paths. I wanted to know more about her, but I was appalled by what I learned.

Edward could barely form his lips around the words, they horrified him so much, but in whispers so low that Esme wouldn't hear, he choked out what he saw in her human memories…a man, always the same man, humiliating her in public, striking her face, punching her soft belly, kicking her as she lay on the ground curled up in a ball, locking her in a room with no food and water, forcing himself on her in an obscene distortion of the love I ached to give her…

By the time Edward had revealed even a fraction of these memories to me, I was shaking with a fury greater than anything I had ever felt. Edward's rage was nearly as great, but somehow we both managed to cling to each other and find our breath, and our reason. But my memories were now as vivid as Edward's, and I could not forget what Charles Evenson had done to my love.

Edward's hand firmly coming down on my shoulder brought me back to the present. "Are you all right, Carlisle?"

I was shocked to find myself in a crouch, as though I were going to attack that vile human, to make him pay for every bruise on her soft skin, every tear shed from her bright eyes…

"I think Esme's gone after the herd," he continued carefully, running his sharp eyes over my face, my tensed shoulders, the hands balled into fists at my sides. He waited, and I struggled to get myself under control, battling against both violence and confusion. This was not like me. Control was seldom this hard for me; I'd had centuries of practice at it. It took several deep breaths, and the pressure of Edward's hand, the knowing look in his eyes, and the sound of Esme stalking nearby to center me again. I could be calm for them…or at least, I could put the rage on simmer, rather than letting it boil over.

_Sorry…_I said, sounding shaky even in my head. Edward's eyes were understanding and compassionate, but I looked away from them. _Yes, let's hunt._

Edward left for Ohio the next day, though I was already having doubts about letting him go. He'd never been away from me for this long, and there were so many dangers.

_Are you sure you have enough control for this?_ I asked him silently, but doubtfully. _You're so young…_

"I'm sure," he murmured quietly. "But do you want me to be controlled? Why don't you just let me kill him?"

I could read on his face the pleasure that thought gave him. I was trying to convince myself that I just needed to know more, and it was true that I did. I felt protective enough of Esme that I hated Evenson as much as Edward did, but that wouldn't be necessary, I was sure of it. I only needed to end her marriage; there were plenty of grounds for that. That was all. I repeated it to myself until it sounded natural in my thoughts.

_As satisfying as that thought is,_ I chuckled, _I'm just after information._

Edward gave me a suspicious look. "Any specific information?" he asked.

I tried very hard to be rational, logical, but every time I thought about that man, that unknown man hurting my precious Esme, the fury came over me again. Anger was not entirely unknown to me, and I knew better than most that strong emotions were simply part of vampire life, but I was alarmed at how easily the violence within me was provoked by even the thought of the faceless man who drove my beloved to suicide.

Because I did blame him for that. If he had been half the husband he should have been, half the man she deserved, he would have been there to comfort her when their child died. I could kill him just for that, for leaving her alone, for forcing her to run when any man with half a brain would hold her close to his side and cherish every minute he was allowed to spend with her. My hands curled into fists, and I wanted to destroy something, anything. Him.

_Find out how he could do it,_ I seethed. My breathing sped up and I shook with the force of my anger. _Find out what kind of man hurts someone so loving and gentle. Find out what was in his twisted mind when he raised his hand—_

"Carlisle?" Esme's musical voice drifted up to Edward's room.

Edward's eyes opened wide in alarm, but one look at my face told him that I was in no condition to speak yet.

"Up here, Esme," he said, calling down from the loft where he chose to make his room. "I'm just packing a few things for my trip."

He glanced over at me. I took deep, silent breaths and muttered prayers to myself, and second by painful second, the rage subsided.

"I thought I heard growling," she said, concern warming her lovely voice. "Is everything all right?"

Edward laughed and stepped over the door to the hole where the ladder was. "Yes, of course," he said, sounding perfectly natural. He really was remarkably suited for this life. "I challenged Carlisle to a rematch of our wrestling match from the other night, but he's apparently too afraid I would win this time."

It was all right now. I could speak again. I shook off the lingering darkness and tried for the light, teasing tone that Edward had adopted. "And I might have suggested that he is an insolent pup who has no respect for his elders."

I'm not sure my voice was back to normal, because Edward laughed again, as though to cover the sound.

"And it's possible," he said, letting us both hear the cocky smirk that amused me so much, "that I responded by telling him that I let him win last time, as he's so ancient."

This time my laugh sounded much more natural. And it _was_ funny…Edward and I were evenly matched in wrestling. We were the same height, roughly the same build, and while he could anticipate my moves, he also let his emotions cloud his choices. He would deny it, but he was a terribly emotional creature, more so even than most vampires. I, however, thought things through faster and better than he did.

"That might have been the point at which somebody growled," I concluded with a smile.

"Hmmm…." Esme said. She bounded up to the second floor, smiling with the novelty of her new abilities. "I must have been further away than I thought, because I didn't hear any of this."

Edward flashed her a grin. "Most of it was in Carlisle's head," he said, snickering. That much was true, at least.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow but let it go. Still, the point was clear…we knew that she knew we were keeping something from her. I felt a sudden stab of sadness for her baby, a tiny infant I had never seen. Esme would have been an excellent mother…Edward and I never got away with anything.

She turned to Edward and raised a hand to stroke his arm. "Are you sure you have to go? I'll miss you."

Ice flooded my chest as a terrible suspicion entered my head. She was always so affectionate and kind to us…to _both_ of us. Did she prefer Edward? He was good, handsome, and cared for her deeply…could she have made a different choice than the one I so desperately hoped for? And could I resent it when I cared for them both so much?

Edward stepped closer to Esme. I wished I could read his thoughts—did he feel about her the same way I did? What would I do if he did?

Edward, however, had a way of getting his point across with out telepathy. He embraced Esme quickly, one arm around her shoulder.

Irritation and panic buzzed in my chest, but Edward only smiled his mischievous smile. At Esme, of course. I suddenly wondered why I hadn't chosen a much uglier boy to be my companion.

"You mother me too much," he said, looking down at her lovely face. "You remind me so much of my human mother, Esme. I think she would be very glad to know that you are watching after me." His grin widened. "She worried as much as you do."

Esme smiled softly and gazed up at him. There was love in her eyes, but even I could see that it was not the kind of love I'd been afraid of seeing. Heavens, I really did need to get myself in hand, didn't I? My thoughts were getting completely out of control.

Edward nodded very slightly, and I was impressed that he refrained from visibly rolling his eyes.

"And you remind me of my son, Edward," she said solemnly. "Though I had so little time with him. You are exactly the sort of boy I hoped he would grow into."

Edward leaned down and planted a kiss on Esme's forehead, sliding me a glance as he did so.

I rolled my eyes at his cautious expression. _It's fine, Edward. I'm sorry for my moment of irrationality. It won't happen again._

Edward released Esme and picked up his black leather bag. "Is there anything I need to get in addition to these medical supplies?" he asked me.

_Find out if he's in his right mind,_ I said with some effort. It went against my instincts, but I couldn't proceed with my hazy, half-formed plans if the man was insane. _Find out if he's responsible for his actions. _

"No," I said aloud. "I think the list I gave you will suffice. When do you think you'll be home?"

Edward thought for a beat. "Three days," he said. "Perhaps four, if I have any trouble getting what I need."

I nodded. "Be careful, son."

"I will." He gave Esme one more quick squeeze, shook my hand, then jumped down from the loft and was gone in less than a second.

Suddenly Esme and I were alone in Edward's loft. I hadn't realize how much the boy acted as a buffer between us, but now tension filled the room, as if it had only been waiting for Edward's absence to descend upon us. I had no time to prepare for it, and pure awareness of her came over me so quickly…her scent, the lights on her hair, the wistfulness of her voice as she sighed…I grew dizzy for a moment, something that had never happened to me before.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Esme asked softly.

I nodded, making an effort to act normally. "Yes, I do. What could happen to him?"

Esme laughed, and I caught my breath, the sound was so beautiful. "It wasn't precisely him I was worried about. I can't imagine going out among humans right now."

I smiled. I smiled frequently around Esme. I wondered if people who knew me a hundred years ago, or even twenty or ten, would recognize me now. I had always been so serious about everything, but now I laughed and smiled more than I ever had. It was not an unpleasant change.

"He's doing amazingly well," I said truthfully. "But it was hard for him, too, his first year. It's hard for all of us. Please don't be discouraged. You're coming along just fine, Esme."

Her name tasted sweet on my tongue and I thought I could say it a thousand times without tiring of it. _Esme Esme Esme Esme Esme Esme…_ I would say it in laughter, in concern, in admiration, I would breathe it into her ear before my lips touched her neck, her cheek, her mouth…

I shook my head to clear it of these thoughts. I was fantasizing about another man's wife. It was very wrong, as I told myself every time it happened, but try as I might I couldn't completely control my thoughts. Well, not all the time. I wondered if Edward was getting tired of their direction.

"Will you have to leave me to go to the hospital?" Esme asked, a tremor of anxiety in her voice.

"No," I said, smiling again. "I have arranged to be absent for a few days."

Her gaze sharpened, and I suddenly knew I hadn't fooled her. "Then why did you send Edward to… Ohio… in your place? Don't you need to be there to collect these medical supplies?"

Ah, what to say. There were two answers, of course, both equally true. I chose the one that would further my cause, and distract her from the other one. I didn't want her to know what Edward was really doing in her home state.

"He was eager to go," I said slowly. I was stepping out in unchartered territory now, and I took a breath. "I think he wants to prove himself, that he is capable of spending long stretches of time among people. And I sometimes suspect that he tires of my thoughts," I added, "pleasant as they are."

She laughed. "If they are so pleasant, how can he object to them?"

My gaze lingered over her face, the line of her throat, the rich fullness of her hair. I wished I had the right to touch it. "Because they are very personal," I said in a low voice, "and filled with only one thing."

"What can be in your excellent mind that Edward would find tedious?" she asked. "He admires you so much."

"He admires you, as well," I said. "But he is aware that my thoughts, so filled with you as they are, are not intended for him to hear."

"Oh…" she breathed. She gazed at me, her red-orange eyes wide. Then she ducked her head, and I thought that if she were human, she would be blushing. It was quite endearing, and tenderness welled up inside me.

"I…" She took a deep breath. "I think of you, too, Carlisle."

I liked the sound of my name on her lips as much as I had liked hers on mine. _She thinks of me… _My breathing sped up, and I didn't mind that she could hear it. I had to know if there was any possibility that she might one day return my feelings.

The thought of going to her had barely registered before I was at her side. I lifted one hand to her face and gently stroked my fingertips across her cheek. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her skin was so soft, so warm, and I clenched my hand closed before I could follow my impulse to graze my fingers down her neck, over her shoulder…

I was suddenly grateful that Edward was gone and could not hear the explicit turn my thoughts had taken. I was surprised by them, myself…in over two hundred years I had never been so distracted, so tempted, by a woman.

"Esme," I said softly, and the feel of her name in my mouth threatened to distract me yet again. If things were different, I could marry her today, make love with her without stopping, and enjoy her company forever. But the question of her marriage aside, it didn't feel right to rush things so. I was a doctor, I knew a wounded person when I saw one. The change may have healed her body, making it the most perfect thing I'd ever seen, but her soul was still scarred.

Still, vampires have many miraculous healing powers, and I had more than most. Part of her was healing already by being able to love Edward as she did; now that I was thinking clearly I could see that and be grateful for it.

And what would my love do to her? Would it scare her? Would she shy away from entering into the same relationship with me that she'd had with her husband? I didn't like the idea of being compared to him. I wanted to be good for her, to make her life happy and full, to help her heal and trust again, like Edward did just by being there.

As if in answer to my question, she looked up at me through her long eyelashes, a look that was a dangerous blend of desire and hesitation, designed to make a man freeze in his tracks, not knowing if he should ravish her or throw his body in front of a train for her. I was more than willing—too willing—to do either if she wanted it.

"Esme," I said again, "you should know that I am not a poor man…."

She frowned. "I don't care about that," she said.

"I know," I said. "But I want you to know something. What's mine is yours, as well as Edward's. The two of you have made my lonely life into something beautiful, and I can never repay that."

She started to speak, but I lay a finger over her lips. Then my attention was drawn by the feel of her lips beneath my finger. I thought of a hundred ways to touch her lips alone. I would stroke them softly—

I shook my head. Distracted again…

I dropped my finger before it could act of its own accord. "I wish to ask you something."

She tipped her head to one side. "Yes?"

"Money is not a concern for us," I said, "and neither is time, since you have all the time in the world. In a few months you will be able to go about in the world, if you want to do so. What would you like to do?"

She stared at me. Blinked. Stared. Then she took a deep shuddering breath. "Oh, Carlisle!" she wailed. She threw her arms around my neck, pressing her face against my chest, her body against mine.

I froze for a moment, but then my arms went around her instinctively. I could feel her slender frame shaking…was she crying?

"What? What is it, Esme?" I said in alarm. "Have I said something wrong? I'm so sorry!"

I pushed her back slightly to get a better look at her face. "Have I upset you, my darling?" I asked, trying to control my anxiety. "I never meant—"

"No, no," she said, disentangling herself from me. I didn't want her to go. I wanted to hold her close to me. I wanted to have the _right_ to hold her close to me. "It's just…nobody has ever asked me that before!"

I frowned, not quite following her. "Asked you what?"

"Nobody has ever asked me what I wanted!" she said, her words coming fast and breathless. "Everybody has always told me what I couldn't do, what I shouldn't have, what was wrong for me, what wasn't suitable for a lady. My wishes never entered into it, my strengths and talents were never considered. I don't even—oh!"

Her graceful hands flew up to her cheeks. "What?" I said again, wishing for the first time that I had a gift like Edward's and could follow her complex thought processes.

Her eyes raised to mine. "I don't even know what my strengths and talents are! I'm twenty-six years old and I don't know what I like or what I'm good at!"

I reached for her, closing my hands over her wrists and pulling them down from her face. They were blocking my view of her perfection. "But you will always be twenty-six, and you will never die, so you have plenty of time to figure it out."

She smiled, and I had to blink, it was so dazzling. "Yes, I do, don't I?"

My hands still held hers, but she stepped closer to me. "You must tell me something, Carlisle," she said in a low voice. "Do families stay together in this world? Do marriages overflow with love and parents give selflessly to their children? Do people…people like _us_…make homes that shine with warmth and affection?"

"Yes," I whispered, utterly compelled by her vision. I had no idea before this moment that I had been seeking exactly what she was asking me for. Not just companionship, but a home, a family. "Sometimes they do. If they choose to."

"You've made a good beginning," she said, admiration shining in her eyes. "You and Edward."

"Edward and I were companions," I corrected her. "I think of him as a son, but it is you, Esme, who made us a family."

She smiled her glowing smile again and it took my breath away. I had made her happy. I suddenly felt like a king, my chest swelled much as Edward's did when I had confessed my need for his help. I had made Esme happy.

Suddenly a new, quiet confidence smoldered in her vivid eyes. She took a breath and said quite directly, "You asked me what I want. I would like more children, Carlisle."

I winced. I should have seen this coming, and I hated to be the one to bear bad news to her, not when it mattered so much. But for the same reason I had to be honest. It mattered too much. "You can't bear children anymore, Esme."

Would she now be unhappy?

But she smiled. It was a bit sad, but accepting. "I know that," she said. "I could read the signs."

"And we can't create them," I said, wanting her to be very clear on this point. "Not infants, nor small children. It is not permitted, and it is very dangerous."

She nodded, her bright mind processing the difficulties immediately. "No, that wouldn't do at all," she mused. She shook her head, probably trying to clear it of the idea of an immortal child. "Like Edward, then?" she asked. "When the time is right, and the situation calls for it?"

I hesitated. "Perhaps," I hedged. I still wasn't sure I had done the right thing by changing her and Edward. I hesitated to promise to change other unknown young men or women.

It suddenly occurred to me that though we had not explicitly discussed love or marriage, we were discussing having children. I frowned. It was true that I had not been human for many years, but it seemed that this was a bit out of order.

This new development only strengthened my resolve to find a solution to the problem of Esme's human marriage. If we were going to be parents, even if our future children were young men or women Edward's age, we should be married. Our family should have that secure foundation.

"There is something else I would like to do," Esme said. I looked down at her, encouraging her to continue, trying not to think of all the things that_ I_ would like to do.

She went on, unaware of the direction of my thoughts. "You have a beautiful home here, Carlisle, but I wonder if I could make some changes. I've been thinking about how lovely it would be to add a wrap-around porch and paint the interior walls, then perhaps wire the house for electricity and add running water. Would you mind very much if I worked on that, at least until I can more safely leave on my own?"

"Of course," I said, picturing the old farmhouse as she did. "You may do anything you like. Shall I bring you some catalogues to choose materials from?"

"Thank you," she said, and I felt that strange feeling of pride and triumph at the sight of her delighted smile. "That would be perfect."

She jumped down from the loft, landing gracefully below. I watched as she ran to my tool cabinet, pulled out a yardstick and began measuring. She was filled with a new energy, a new enthusiasm, that I had never seen in her before. It was contagious; and I felt my body respond with similar energy.

Some day, I vowed, I would have the right to jump down after her and pull her into my arms. I would have the right to kiss her and touch her and fall down onto the parlor floor with her body on top of mine, laughing and gasping and burning for her, knowing my love was returned.

Some day _soon._

We were closer to that vision today than we ever had been, and my heart swelled with hope. But as long as Charles Evenson was alive out there somewhere, I had no right.

As much as I hated him and loved her, she was his wife. And as long as that was true, I had no right to pursue my dream of love.

Edward had only been gone for a few minutes, but I was suddenly very impatient for him to get back.

23


	2. Chapter 2

**For My Own**

**Chapter 2**

Edward returned home on the fourth day. I heard him coming, running through the woods rather than down the road, which we often did when we just wanted speed. I knew Esme could hear him, too, because her eyes lit up as she looked down from her ladder. She looked endearing with a smudge of pale blue paint across her cheek, and I suddenly wanted desperately to protect her from whatever news Edward was bringing.

Esme hopped down from the ladder, landing, as always, lightly on the balls of her feet. She was graceful even for a vampire; I should know, I spent more than enough time watching her move through the house, painting, ripping up floorboards, sanding down the banisters of the new staircase that led up to Edward's loft. Her movements were fast and fluid, bespeaking both a deep femininity and a drive that I wasn't sure she herself was yet aware of.

Once Esme had made up her mind about the house, things had moved with bemusing speed. She knew exactly what she needed, and my hands were kept busy sawing, sanding, and nailing for as many hours as she did. She was nearly done, though; her vampire strength and speed made the task much easier for her than it would have been for a human. We were only awaiting the delivery of the lumber for the wrap-around porch, which her slender hands had drawn with uncanny accuracy, and which I promised her that Edward and I would build for her.

Esme and I stood side by side, hands brushing but not linked, to welcome our son home. It felt strange, but somehow right, to share my son with Esme when we were not—could not be—a couple. But it reassured me, because it told me without a doubt that she would never be tempted to feign love for me so that she could mother Edward, nor tempted to feign affection for Edward in order to be my mate. I could not have borne either outcome, but Esme never withheld or feigned an ounce of her great love.

I was in awe of her. And I knew she simply awaited my signal for her to shower that love upon me, but I couldn't give that signal yet. She was married, she wasn't mine. I wasn't free to love her, though love her I certainly did. I wouldn't compound the wrong by acting on it.

And I had to hear what Edward had to say about his trip to Ohio.

So, I tried to content myself with occasional touches of her hand, smiles, or watching her when I felt sure I was undetected. It was better than nothing, especially since these small things seemed to bring her delight, as well, but I grew more dissatisfied and restless every day. I had more than I ever dreamed I would, but it made me greedy for still more.

Edward's rapid tread touched down outside the door, and then he was in, with us where he belonged. It amazed me how quickly I'd become used to being part of a family after two and a half centuries alone.

"Edward!" Esme exclaimed, stepping forward to meet him. He smiled and embraced her gently and allowed her to kiss his cheek. His eyes didn't meet mine, but he looked fierce, dangerous, as he wrapped his arms around his mother.

Edward's black look couldn't bode well for his findings in Ohio, but at the moment, seeing how he held her and guarded her from the worst of his expression, I knew that if something happened to me, I could rely on Edward to protect Esme.

At that moment, my cold heart felt as though it had stuttered to life again.

"Welcome home, son," I said quietly. Edward released Esme and turned to embrace me quickly. _What's wrong? What did you find out?_

He muttered, "Later," then released me and turned his gaze to the room. The bleak, violent look was gone, and a bright smile replaced it. He was protecting Esme again. I nodded in approval. I was probably the only father on earth who was proud of what a good liar his son was becoming.

"Esme, did you do all this?" Edward said, impressed with the changes that had been made in a few short days.

Esme nodded, her smile blooming across her face. "Do you like it? Carlisle said I could do whatever I wanted—" she laughed, "—and that money was no object!"

Edward looked around carefully, though I knew that his eyes had taken in every detail as soon as he had bounded in the door. He wanted his praise to mean something, to be deeply considered and therefore meaningful to her.

"It's perfect," he said, smiling at her. "Both elegant and comfortable. It seems to reflect Carlisle in that sense."

I glanced over at him, startled by that observation. Esme clapped her hands and laughed, and I looked down at her with wide eyes.

"I'm so glad you think so!" she said happily. "That's what I was trying to do, to make his home an extension of his brightness and his strength."

Both of these people I loved were looking at me with such admiration that I grew flustered. "You exaggerate my virtues," I said uncomfortably. "But the house is becoming more beautiful by the day."

Esme and Edward glanced at each other and rolled their eyes, as though they shared a private joke at my expense. However, since it seemed to be directed at my inability to accept a compliment, I just shook my head in bemusement. Brightness and strength, indeed.

Edward turned to Esme, the gentle, amused smile still playing around his mouth. "I have to tell Carlisle some things about my trip and some difficult suppliers I encountered, and I need to hunt. Will you be all right if we stay close to the house?"

She nodded, but glanced up at me. "I think so," she said hesitantly. "Carlisle and I hunted yesterday, so I'll just stay here and finish painting."

"Stay in the house, all right?" I said. I lifted a hand and stroked a single finger down her soft cheek. "You're doing extremely well, but we don't want to take any chances if the wind blows the wrong way."

"I will," she promised, then waved to us as she picked up her paint brush again.

We walked away from the house in silence, listening carefully to make sure that Esme was still involved in her work. We'd never left her alone for so long, but there was no wind today, and we would simply run a perimeter around the house.

As though the agreement had been spoken, we both began to jog, letting our instincts seek out nourishment while our rational minds were otherwise occupied. I sensed that Edward needed a few moments to gather his thoughts together, so I waited patiently, occupying myself by listening to Esme's brush rising and falling. I smiled to myself when she began to hum a song we had listened to on the radio just the night before.

"He thinks she's dead," Edward said abruptly.

_I assumed as much._

"But he doesn't mourn her," he said angrily. "He was wounded in the war, and now he works at his father's bank, while women flock to him pretending to be concerned about his injury."

Not to mourn the loss of Esme was an incomprehensible thought. How could any being, even a mortal, not weep at the thought that she had been taken from the universe?

"He'll probably choose one of them and marry again," Edward said. We continued to jog in a wide circle, the sounds of Esme's work faint but audible. From here we could also hear the faint sounds of the town in the distance…autos on bumpy roads and voices raised in greeting.

_It would be expected, _I thought,_ but there should be some way to make sure it doesn't happen. _I thought about that for a moment. I didn't like the thought of Evenson doing to some other young woman the things he'd done to Esme.Then I shook my head, too eager for Edward's information to dwell on it, and determined to consider it again later. _Did he know about the baby? Did he ever enquire about his son?_

Edward shook his head. "He didn't know. But I think…" He hesitated. "I think he would have gone after her if he'd known."

I hissed in anger. "Because it would have made her easier to control."

We had turned back to the north; now Edward sprinted ahead of me, pulling us slightly off course. "Come on," he said, his voice tight. "Let's take it out on the wolves."

We ran further north until we found the wolves sleeping deep under the cover of branches and leaves. They were irritated about being awoken, and put up enough of a fight that some of my anger and frustration was fed into not only taking down a few of the larger wolves, but in fighting off the whole pack. A wolf was never alone, unlike other prey… alone, injured, unable to call for help…

"Carlisle!" Edward hissed urgently.

Edward's voice snapped me immediately out of my feeding. My head snapped up, and I heard it. The engine of a truck, a large heavy one, pulling into the lane in front of our isolated farm house.

"Go!" I yelled, and we ran full out, south through the woods. The howls of the surviving wolves followed us through the thick trees, greens and browns flashed by us in perfect clarity.

The sound of the truck's engine died.

Edward pulled ahead of me. He was a much faster runner.

In the distance, the truck's door opened, then slammed.

I ran faster, invisible. Edward pulled ahead a little more.

"_Hello?"_ a voice called, still far away.

I ran faster than I ever had. Almost there. _Please, Esme, stay in the house…_

The front door opened. _Oh, no…_

Edward skidded to a halt at our treeline. His heels dug deep ruts into the soft earth. "I can't, Carlisle…the blood…"

_Stay here,_ I said, sprinting past him. I smelled the blood, too. I was too late.

"Esme, stop!" I shouted.

But of course, she couldn't stop. She was on the ground on front of the porch steps, crouched over the man's body, drinking thirstily from his jugular. His head on his broken neck lolled to the side, giving her easy access. She balanced perfectly on the balls of her feet, holding the burly body with no effort at all. His blood smeared her pale cheeks, looking obscenely bright next to the streak of pale blue paint that also marked her.

"Esme!" I said sharply. Her head whipped up and she sprang, dropping her kill, into a defensive crouch in front of it. At that moment, I was only another predator, a threat to her meal. She had no conception of me as the man who loved her.

A fierce snarl ripped from between her bared teeth. I hesitated, careful not to take an offensive position. I could subdue her with Edward's help, but I didn't want Edward involved right now…he was too young, he might fight Esme for the human, and we might all end up hurting each other.

I stepped back, bent my head, and raised my hands submissively. "Fine," I said, resigned. "He's already dead. You might as well finish."

She growled once more in an assertion of her victory, and returned to the body. She caught the blood seeping from his neck on her tongue, but never took her eyes from me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing temptation forcibly out of my mind. I was stronger than this. I wouldn't fight Esme for this kill, no matter how delicious the splattered blood smelled. And I would not take her like an animal there on the ground, matching strength for strength, sliding in human blood, tasting her lips, throat, breasts, exulting together in our dominance over all other forms of nature, claiming victory over our prey and over each other…

"Carlisle."

Edward's voice came from a distance, but it woke me from my fantasy…and I was shocked to find myself crouching over Esme and the delivery man's body, one hand reaching toward not him, but her. A low warning growl hummed in Esme's chest and her eyes tracked my movement.

I quickly straightened myself and spun away, turning my back on Esme. I knew it was unwise; she might finish feeding and attack me before she returned to her senses. I walked briskly across the field in front of our house at the same time Edward emerged from the trees, taking careful and considered steps toward me. I realized he had stopped breathing.

"I'm sorry," he said, the anguish and tension making his voice thick. "I took us off course. I was so angry, I wanted a fight, and I smelled the wolves—"

"It's all right, son," I said heavily. "It's not your fault. I should never have left her alone."

"That was my idea, too," Edward said miserably.

"But my responsibility," I corrected him. "We are what we are, Edward. We must never forget that this is always a possibility. It's harder for you young ones, but any one of us could have the smallest lapse of control and revert to this side of our nature in an instant."

Edward looked at me. "You never do."

I shook my head. "You know that's not true, Edward." I thought of my dark and desperately tempting fantasies of a moment ago. "You above all know that I am not immune to the weaknesses of our kind."

"Temptation isn't sin, Carlisle," he said, shaking his head. "I don't think it matters as much what you _want_ to do as what you _choose_ to do."

"I hope that's the case," I said seriously. Indeed, all my hope for myself, Edward, and Esme was founded on my belief that we could choose to overcome our inhuman nature and be a force for good in the world.

"Who was he, anyway?" Edward asked, nodding toward the dead man on our front lawn.

"He was delivering the wood for the wrap-around porch Esme wants," I said quietly. "Just an honest man working an honest job. I didn't expect him until tomorrow."

The sounds of Esme's feeding stopped, and we turned as we heard the body hit the ground with a soft thud. There was a long silence while Esme stood over him, her face blank, her body frozen. Edward and I started to walk toward her, slowly, not wanting to startle or provoke her.

_Are you all right?_ I asked Edward, noting the tension in his shoulders and the grimace on his face.

"Yes. There's not much blood left."

Esme's eyes rose from the dead man in front of her to our approaching figures. They were a vivid, bright crimson. Blood smeared her lips and chin. The frozen look on her face gave way to realization, then horror, and she covered her face with her hands.

"Carlisle!" she wailed, the sound full of pain and despair.

I was at her side in an instant. I gathered her into my arms and stroked her hair, ignoring the blood that got on my shirt as she pressed her face into my shoulder and wept tearlessly.

"There now," I crooned, feeling helpless and useless. "There, now, Esme, don't worry. Everybody slips sometimes. It's not your fault. There now…"

"I killed him, Carlisle," she sobbed, her breath coming in dry hitches. "He was a human being! He was some mother's son, and I took him from her…"

She broke away from me, pushing me with enough strength that I staggered back and fell to the ground. She slammed the door before I recovered, but I leapt up and followed her leaving Edward to deal with the body.

"Don't, Esme."

She was on her knees on the floor, her breath coming in quick gasps, her hands fisted in her hair. I knelt beside her and gathered her in my arms. She didn't return my embrace, but she didn't push me away, either.

I comforted her the best I could, and listened to what Edward was doing outside. He held his breath as he picked up the man's muscular body easily, slid him carefully back into the driver's seat of the truck, closed the door, and came around the back and began to unload the wood from the truck's bed. The task only took him a few minutes, and soon the lumber was stacked in a neat pile against the front of the farmhouse.

Edward paused. "What should I do with him?"

_The creek_, I said. Running water would explain why there was no blood when the body was finally found. The lake would be even better, but I didn't know if there was any reason for him to have been driving that close to it. At least this way, it would look as though he'd had simply had a tragic accident on his way back from a delivery.

_Head trauma against the steering wheel_, I added, not wanting to burden Esme with the image of Edward applying blunt force to recreate the supposed accident.

I heard Edward nod. Esme and I listened as he climbed into the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition, and drove the truck out onto the main road. I assumed he would drive the truck off the one lane bridge and into the water beneath, but I didn't concern myself too deeply. Edward was bright and resourceful; he would take care of it.

_I'm depending upon you, _I thought. _Thank you._

"Sure," he said grimly, his voice fading as he deftly turned the truck onto the main road past our house.

"I'm so sorry, Carlisle," Esme said. She was quieter now, her breathing starting to level out. She remained where she was, though, in the circle of my arms, her head resting on my shoulder.

"No, my dear," I said, running a hand down her hair again. It was so soft and thick. "I'm sorry. I should never have left you for so long, nor gone so far. You are very young yet."

"Now I understand why you and Edward are always hovering over me," she said, a little bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I didn't know I was capable of that, but you did."

I tipped up her chin and looked down into her eyes. They were so red they were hard to look at, but for all that, they were still Esme's. "You will always be capable of that, Esme," I said solemnly. "We all are. We must choose with every single day, with every single person we encounter, not to prey upon them, when it would be much more natural to do so. This is not an easy life I have condemned you to."

She sighed, and I could smell the blood on her breath. Mixed with her own sweet breath, it was a heady, exquisite scent. My arms tightened around her.

"I don't want to hurt anyone else," Esme said. "You must help me, Carlisle, you and Edward."

"Of course we will," I murmured.

She frowned. "How do you resist? From the moment that poor man arrived, nothing had ever smelled better to me. Nothing has ever tasted better. It tempts me even now, knowing that there are more of them out there…"

"Yes," I said. "You, Edward, and I are fighting our own nature and the pull of great pleasure. Sometimes it is only the thought that someone would have to die for my pleasure that keeps me from succumbing. It doesn't seem like a fair trade for the other person."

"No," she said. "It wouldn't be right. Though they would surely die happy if your face was the last thing they saw."

I smiled a little and pressed her head back down to my chest, holding her for another moment there on the floor of the old farmhouse. I was reluctant to let her go, but I thought she might like to bathe, to wash off the blood, to have some time alone to process the day's events.

"I don't feel condemned," she said suddenly. Her head came up and her eyes met mine again. Her crimson eyes were fierce. "I hate what I just did, and I don't want to hurt people, but you don't have to be a vampire to hurt people. I feel strong and powerful, and nobody can ever hurt me again. I can choose for myself, and do what I want, and nobody can stop me. You gave me that, Carlisle."

Her eyes were filled with passion, her chin raised defiantly. Even Edward had not embraced his fate so wholeheartedly, especially not after making a mistake.

She must have sensed my doubt, because she added firmly, "I have a great deal to learn yet, but to me, this life is a blessing."

I stared down at her. Could she possibly mean that? Could she somehow see this unnatural life not as a curse, but as something good in her life? Even after what I had allowed to happen today?

Suddenly my whole existence, nearly three hundred years, was transformed.

In an instant, I saw myself working through plague, cholera, and influenza. Earthquakes, fires, and floods. Bombings, battles, and violence. I had always done these things. But in my mind's eye…in Esme's mind…I was no longer the accursed wraith who must constantly justify his presence upon the earth, the monster who must do penance for crimes he _could _have committed at any time.

For a moment, my very nature was a gift—because of it I was a doctor who could not be wounded, a healer who could not fall ill, a man whose supernatural strength could carry the weak, a guardian who neither slumbered nor slept but stood watch tirelessly over those in his charge.

I had always striven to be those things, in spite of my nature. Esme seemed to be saying I was those things because of my nature.

She was still looking at me with admiration in her eyes, and my shining vision faded. I was not all that she and Edward persisted in thinking I was. Only I knew that I, like King David, was considering ways of ridding my life of another man so that I could have his wife for my own. But perhaps, like King David, there was enough potential good in my nature to make up for that. Perhaps I could just be who I was, as I had encouraged Esme to do, without condemning myself any longer just for existing.

That thought was healing to my own battered soul, and I sighed at the quiet, liberating pleasure of it.

"And you have given me more than you can possibly know," I whispered, kissing her softly on the forehead.

I heard Edward running through the woods that paralleled the creek before it curved away toward town. Esme heard him, too; she turned her head in his direction and opened her eyes wide.

"Will Edward be disappointed in me?"

"No," I said firmly. "I promise."

"Carlisle, can we do something for that man's family? He may have had a wife, children…"

I squeezed her harder and smiled. "Dearest Esme," I laughed. "Of course we can. I'll visit the attorney tomorrow and arrange it." I had to visit the attorney's office, anyway. I looked down at my precious Esme. "How do you live with so much love in your heart? Doesn't it threaten to burst open from being filled so full?"

She smiled gently. "Sometimes," she said. "But I want to be like you, Carlisle. I want to do the right things."

My laughter faded, and I tried not to grimace. "I don't always do the right things," I said a bit desperately. I knew this to be true; every time I turned around I was either doing something wrong or considering it.

Esme studied my face carefully. "Perhaps not," she said softly, sadly. "But you haven't killed anyone today, have you?"

I sighed. "No," I agreed quietly. "Not today."

"Ever?" she persisted.

I hesitated, then shook my head.

We stood in silence for a moment, our arms wrapped around each other. I would figure this out soon. I would not allow anyone else to have more of a claim on her than I did. I liked to think that she needed me a little, even if she was reluctant to need anyone.

"Why don't you go clean up?" I suggested, reluctantly letting her go. I could hear Edward's footsteps running quickly through the woods. "Edward and I will get started on this porch for you."

18


	3. Chapter 3

**For My Own**

**Chapter 3**

I could smell her, even now. I stood on the porch of an old house in an upper class neighborhood, and her scent lingered. How long had it been since she'd lived here? My brain automatically did the calculation in an instant. Five months since her suicide, then probably seven months before that since she'd fled this place. A year later, her scent still lingered in its wood, its fabrics. It was a little different, with a delicious human aspect to it, but it was most definitely my Esme.

I rang the bell.

The staff was gone; Edward had told me about the housekeeper and the cook, so I'd waited until they'd left for the evening. Now I could hear the uneven gait of a man with a slight limp using a cane, walking on a thick and well-made carpet in a narrow entry hall. The way the sound traveled was very telling, and of course, my ears picked up everything.

The door finally opened, and I got my first look at him, at the monster who'd tried to destroy my beloved. He was very handsome, with a Valentino mustache and his dark hair greased back. His expression was open and pleasant, his evening clothes elegant and expensive, and for an infinitesimal second I wondered if Edward had gotten the wrong man.

But I trusted Edward, who had seen the man's face for himself through Esme's memories. Besides, I knew better than anyone that a handsome face could conceal a monster.

"May I help you?" he asked.

I smiled, matching pleasantry for pleasantry. "Please forgive me for intruding on your evening, Mr. Evenson," I said, doing my best to maintain some semblance of humanity when all I wanted was to tear his throat out. My hands began a slight tremor that I struggled to keep out of my voice. "I am Dr. Carlisle Cullen of Ashland, Wisconsin—"

His eyes flickered slightly. Ah, good. He made the connection. I continued. "And I believe you have something I want."

His eyes opened wider, startled. "I don't know you, sir," he said politely. "What could I possibly have of yours?"

He was very courteous, very smooth. But so was I.

"Forgive me for inconveniencing you," I said. "Might I come in and discuss the matter with you?"

He hesitated, but opened the door wider. Foolish, foolish mortals. They never suspected the danger that stalked them.

"Of course," he said, stepping back to let me enter. "But I do have an appointment at nine o'clock, so I'm afraid I can only spare you a few minutes, Dr….Cullen, did you say?"

I could see him wracking his brain for a memory of any connection we might have. Perhaps the name was familiar to him. I let him wonder. He would know soon enough.

"Yes, that's right," I said, stepping in smoothly behind him.

He pushed the door shut behind me, and as I heard the latch catch, I smiled. He blinked, bemused by my sheer beauty. That was natural; we were attractive to our prey in a way that often had nothing to do with sexual feelings. If a human wasn't drawn to one of us as a potential lover, they were often drawn to us as a connoisseur to a work of art, entranced by our sheer physical perfection.

As he turned his back on me—another foolish move—I turned back quickly and silently locked the front door. The action was so fast he would not have seen or heard it. I resumed my place at his shoulder, making sure occasionally to scrape a toe on the rug or breathe loudly, as he guided me down the entry hall and into a large formal parlor on the right.

I could still smell traces of Esme's scent in this house, but I could see nothing of her here. The hard, factory-made modern furnishings of the parlor were no doubt the most up-to-date and fashionable items available, but they were not the worn, smooth woods and fine craftsmanship Esme favored. These items would be out of date within five years, while any house that Esme furnished would be timeless, suitable and comfortable for any era.

"May I offer you a drink?" my host said politely, gesturing to the bar along one wall.

"No, thank you," I said formally, "but please feel free to partake yourself."

"Thank you," he said, and limped over to the bar to pour himself three fingers of an expensive single-malt Scotch. A drinker. That explained much…but not enough. It was my experience that a man who was abusive when he drank used the drink as an excuse to do what he was inclined to do anyway.

Evenson took his tumbler and gestured for me to sit on one of the chairs. He himself sat facing me on a love seat, took a swig of his drink, and looked enquiringly, expectantly into my face, blinking as he met my golden eyes.

The smell of him, combined with my own searing hatred, burned me, but for once I did not suppress the vampiric violence that coursed through me. I would not feed from this monster, but he deserved to be frightened, to be terrorized as he had terrorized his—Esme.

I could not bear to think of her as his wife.

That would mean picturing her in his arms, in his bed…picturing him giving her the one thing I never could, planting his seed deeply enough within her to create a child…

I squeezed the arms of the ugly chair so tightly that the wood gave way to my fingers, crushing it into pulpy splinters beneath them. Fortunately, Evenson chose that split second to glance down at his drink, and by the time he looked up again, I had smoothed out the ridges of the gashes I had made. Nobody would ever know that human—or human-like—fingers had caused them.

The pause between us had only lasted a second or two, and Evenson broke it by saying, "Now, Dr. Cullen, how may I help you?"

"I am here with regard to your wife, Mr. Evenson," I said evenly.

His dark eyebrows lifted. "My wife died several months ago."

"I am aware of what happened," I said. "I was the attending physician when she was brought into the hospital. But you, sir? Are you aware of what happened?"

Evenson frowned, clearly annoyed at being questioned about his own wife by someone he didn't even know. "Of course," he snapped. "She was visiting a cousin in Wisconsin when she went for a walk along some cliffs, and then fell to her death. It was a tragic accident."

The last was said with a shrug, and for a moment, the red haze of rage filled my vision. I was not as calm as I had supposed. I took a deep breath, but while it helped me get myself under control, it did not lessen my anger.

"You are incorrect, sir," I growled. He gave me a nervous but skeptical look, and I continued. "She was not 'visiting' a cousin. She fled from here and took refuge with this cousin, then fled again when it seemed she would be forced to return. Do you wish to know why?"

"Now see here, sir!" Evenson stood, leaning on his cane, and I stood with him, looking down on him from my height advantage. "My wife had a good home here and everything she could want. Why would you spread stories like that?"

I stalked closer to him, and he leaned back, but he was blocked by the love seat. The fury combined with his unease made my thirst burn all the hotter, and I couldn't help but notice how his heart sped up and the vein in his neck beat a rapid rhythm against his skin.

"She had everything she wanted, did she?" I hissed, crowding him back. "She wanted you to hit her, did she, Evenson? She wanted you to leave welts on her delicate skin? She wanted you to mock and criticize her in front of your acquaintances? She wanted you to lock her in the pantry for two days with no water? She wanted to be kicked for offenses that existed only in your imagination? Is that your meaning?"

I know it had made Edward feel unchivalrous to disclose these memories, but the look on Evenson's face right now would have satisfied him deeply. Edward could be a bloodthirsty young man if the occasion called for it.

Evenson's face drained of blood until he was almost as white as me. "Those are lies!" he spat in a tense whisper. "How do you know those things? My wife never told you that, she wouldn't dare!"

"I know more than you think," I said, breathing deeply to calm myself again. I leaned away from him. "In fact, I know more than you do about your wife."

"Who the hell are you?" he bit out.

I ignored him and took a step back, thinking of my precious Esme. She _was_ mine, and certainly not his, except for this small technicality. Perhaps the thoughts of my love softened my face, because though Evenson looked wary, he relaxed a bit. Still, he scooted to the side and made his way back to the bar, obviously less for the drink than to put some distance between us.

"I know that she likes things to be beautiful," I continued while my companion poured another three fingers of Scotch into his glass. "I know that she prefers the classic and clean lines of the old, rather than the gimmicky and cheap look of the modern." I glanced around the parlor derisively. "I know that she has an eye for color, and a heart full of love. I know that she has a fondness for—"

Evenson snorted and stepped toward me. "You keep saying 'has,' but she's dead, man."

"—children, and I know," I said, as though he hadn't spoken, "that she fled her abusive marriage so that you could not find her. And I know—" I held up my hand to forestall his interruption, "that she bore you a son five months ago."

"_What?"_

Evenson dropped his glass. I caught it before it could hit the carpet. I stood there holding a glass of expensive Scotch while his face grew livid, his expression grew thunderous, and his hands curled into fists.

His increasing fury provoked my own animalistic defenses. In the face of prey who was preparing to fight, my instincts went on full alert, venom flooded my mouth, and my body tensed. My knees bent instinctively, though I resisted slipping into a full crouch. I sensed that he wouldn't attack me yet. _Soon, perhaps,_ I thought with a vindictive hope. My lip curled up, baring my teeth.

"Where is my son?" Evenson snarled. "What did she do with him? I want what belongs to me."

"Your son is dead," I said coldly. As many times as I had had to tell a parent that his son had died, I had never used that contemptuous tone of voice. I was ashamed that I was using it now; no matter how much Evenson was to blame for his own situation, nobody deserved to lose a child.

"That bitch!" he snapped. I growled and the tumbler in my hand shattered into a thousand pieces. My compassion shattered with it. "What did she do to him? She was so stupid, she could never get anything right—"

"Be quiet!" I snarled. "How dare you speak a word against Esme?"

My body was trembling. I had never killed a man on purpose, but every cell in my body clamored for his death—not for his blood, but for what he did to Esme. I bared my teeth again, letting him see me clearly, letting some of my humanity slide away to be replaced by the monster that always lurked beneath it.

"She was my wife—" he began hotly, but I couldn't stand to hear that. I could not listen to his claim that marriage gave him the right to talk about her like that. My control slipped, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. With a roar of rage, I picked up the chair I had been sitting in and tore it apart, the arms, the legs, the back, the seat, darkly enjoying the sound of the wood splintering into miniscule shards and the pieces clattering into a pile on the expensive carpet between us.

He shut his mouth with a pop of his lips, his eyes dark and wide and fearful.

My breath came fast, not because I had particularly exerted myself, but because I was struggling so hard to contain both my anger and shock.

"Sit down, Evenson," I said coldly, if less violently this time. My voice didn't reflect my distaste at my own actions; I _never_ used violence to intimidate people. I was appalled that I had just done so. But I couldn't let my confused emotions distract me. I had something to accomplish tonight. I had to get it done.

He sat abruptly on the love seat, his eyes too bright, his face too pale. His fear smelled like ambrosia, and I shook my head.

_Get yourself in hand, Carlisle,_ I admonished myself. _You are not a violent man._

Why was it so difficult to convince myself of that?

I sauntered over to the tall windows. I'm sure the movement appeared relaxed, as though my violent mood had gone as suddenly as it had come, but the truth was every step was slow and measured and deliberate, a repetitive choosing not to cross in the other direction and destroy the creature who had so unwisely let me into his parlor.

I could hear Evenson's labored breathing, his frantic heartbeat. The venom seeped relentlessly from my gums, anticipating the attack on this weakened, frightened prey. I ignored it, swallowed it, waiting out the urges as I had done for so many years. I carefully pulled the draperies aside and looked out into the street of the Columbus neighborhood. It occurred to me that Esme's parents lived not far from here, and I briefly wondered if I should pay them a visit, as well. But in truth, though they were not innocent in the events of Esme's life, I had nothing to say to them.

"I wish to make a bargain with you, Evenson," I said, calm now. Calmer, at any rate. I wanted this business to be over.

"What?" he said. He was trying to sound belligerent, but the word came out shaky. I wondered what this combat veteran saw in me that he hadn't already faced in the theater of war.

"As I said, you have something I want." I turned slowly toward him, but didn't leave my place near the curtains. I didn't trust myself to stand any nearer to him.

"_What_?" he asked again, frustration overriding fear for a moment.

"Esme," I said simply.

He stared at me, his face shocked and dismayed. He raised his hands, palms open. "She's dead," he said helplessly.

I nodded. "She is, indeed, legally dead," I said. "Do you have a copy of the death certificate?"

He nodded, slid me another wary look, then stood and shuffled past the pile of splintered wood that I had left on the floor. I felt foolish for that now; I never gave into those childish urges to make sure someone knew how strong I was, how much I could hurt them if I wanted to. I never acted like I was acting tonight.

Evenson crossed to a large, elegant desk, and I knew without anyone telling me that this desk was probably the one piece of furniture that Esme liked in this whole large room. It was made of a deeply polished cherry and looked too solid ever to be moved from its place. Evenson crossed around to the desk drawers, partially blocking himself from my view.

He opened a drawer and began rummaging through papers. I could hear the soft, smooth sounds of paper rustling against paper, the well-oiled mechanisms of the drawers, and a soft metallic click that I couldn't immediately identify.

"Here it is," Evenson said, and I heard his clothes rustle before he stood, the thick piece of paper in his hand. "See, here, it's signed by—oh."

"Signed by whom?" I asked pleasantly.

"Signed by Dr. Carlisle Cullen," he said heavily, his brow drawing in anxious bewilderment.

"Esme is alive," I said softly. "But she is in no condition to be a good wife to you. You must let her go, Evenson."

"What do you mean, in no condition?" he said. "Has her brain been damaged? Is she a cripple?"

"I assure you that her body and mind work better than they ever have," I said absently. That was an understatement. I opened my jacket and pulled a thin sheaf of papers from my inside pocket. "If you will simply sign these documents, I will see to it that your marriage is dissolved in a matter of days. Of course, you will also have to promise never to marry again. I can't be responsible for putting another young woman through what you did to Esme."

"You want me to divorce my wife?" he asked incredulously. He seemed to have no reaction at all to the fact that his dead wife was alive.

I noticed that he never seemed to call her by her name.

"Yes," I said simply.

"And what is the bargain you wish to strike?" he sneered. "Do _you_ have something I want in return, Dr. Cullen?"

"Oh, yes," I replied coolly. I could be cool again now that I had calmed down, but I do not think I was successful at hiding my contempt. "I wish to marry her myself, and I find that you are a slight impediment to my plans. I will have your marriage ended one way or another, Evenson. You may choose which method works best for you."

"Are you threatening my life, sir?" Evenson shouted indignantly. "How dare you?"

I was in front of him in a heartbeat, glaring down into his face. It was all I could do to keep my teeth clenched and my hands at my sides as I whispered, "It would be very easy."

Before he could blink again, I resumed my place in front of the window, leaning against it as though I had never moved. Only my accelerated breathing and my trembling hands betrayed my anger.

Evenson moved suddenly. At least, I'm sure _he_ thought it was sudden. He pulled a revolver from his waistband and pointed it at me. I raised an eyebrow, but he just smirked.

"I think not," he said confidently. "Perhaps it is I who shall kill you."

I sighed. Humans were so melodramatic. Of course, I lived with Edward, so a little melodrama didn't really shake me. "Please, Evenson," I said in disgust. "You'll only hurt yourself."

He raised the revolver all the way up in front of his face and sighted me down the barrel. "No, it is only you who will get hurt. I am an excellent shot, you know."

"I'm sure you are," I said coolly. "I, however, am a very poor target."

He scowled, anger flooding into his face, leaving it warm and red. "You'll do," he snapped, and pulled the trigger.

He _was_ a good shot, but hitting someone ten feet from you didn't strike me as particularly difficult. I wouldn't know; I had never fired a gun. The bullet seemed to move fast enough, about as fast as I did when I really ran, and I had to move quickly to raise my hand and snatch it from the air.

"You humans," I sighed, opening my fist and showing him the bullet lying in my palm. "Is this your answer to everything?"

Evenson stared, and his arm dropped slowly to his side. I waited as his hand opened limply and the revolver clattered to the floor. He stood frozen, his face rather green, and swayed on the spot.

"Do we have an agreement, then?" I asked, pressing my advantage.

His head snapped up. His eyes glared at me, full of hatred and malice alongside his terror.

"No," he said. His voice shook, but it dripped venom as surely as mine did. "No agreement. She is mine and always will be. You go get her and bring her home, and I'll teach her to leave me. I'll teach her to walk away from me, by God."

"You'll teach her, will you?" I sneered coldly. I swallowed against the venom, against the predatory growl that simmered in my chest. "You had the honor to be married to her for four years, and all you taught her was that men cannot be trusted and that love is an impossible dream. Do you know how long it will take me truly to persuade her to believe anything differently? To help her trust me enough that she can accept true happiness? You've greatly inconvenienced me, Evenson."

I thought of Esme's determination to be independent, not to be a burden on me and Edward. She gave of herself so freely, but it took me a great deal of time to understand that she never _took_, though Edward and I had so much to give her. She loved us, but she did not want to need us. I comprehended that so much more clearly now that I had met this monster.

"And what about my convenience, sir?" Evenson snapped, his heartbeat racing, his face turning red. "I must constantly spend evenings with insipid young women intent on marrying my father's bank, who will no doubt prove to be as useless as my first wife. I must have someone to manage my staff, to act as hostess, and to produce heirs—"

"I have told you that you will not marry again," I reminded him.

He ignored my interruption. "I am the one who is inconvenienced, Dr. Cullen. My wife may have been stupid, but at least she was--"

"I. Told. You." The words tore out of me sounding more animal than human. The power and thirst and anger coursed through me, and though I had come here with the intention of reasoning with him, I was quickly losing my grip on rationality. Every time I thought I was in control, he said something to push me to the edge again. "I told you never to speak disrespectfully of Esme again."

Evenson's eyes were dark and wild, darting around looking for escape routes, but of course there were none. I stood across the room from him, still near the window, but he could never move fast enough for it to matter.

"My wife," he muttered, backing away from me awkwardly, as though I had moved. There was no place for him to go. "My business. Nobody's business what goes on in a man's home."

"It's my business now," I growled. "Sign the papers so I can leave you to it."

He glared at me for a moment, then dropped his eyes. "There can't be a divorce."

His voice was shaking with fear, and he didn't like it. He didn't like being the powerless one, I thought with a grim satisfaction.

"Trust me, Evenson," I said, my own voice shaking slightly with the force of my anger, "you would not want Esme back now, even if you wanted to teach her one of your lessons. If she had accompanied me tonight, you would be dead by now. Nobody will ever hurt her again."

This last I said fiercely. Esme would always be able to take care of herself now, but I still vowed never to allow her to be in danger.

"I should have taken her away with me when she was sixteen," I muttered to myself.

Evenson saw my moment of distraction and ran toward the door. His progress was hindered by his wounded leg and his cane. And the fact that he was human and I was a vampire.

With a growl, I flipped easily through the air and landed in front of him. He actually collided with me and bounced backward, so intent was he on making it to the door.

He fell to the ground with a high pitched shriek and began to back away from me, pushing himself along the plush carpet with his heels. His cane lay dropped and forgotten.

"The papers, Evenson?" I bit out.

"I can't!" he wailed. "My father—the scandal! I would be ruined!"

"On the contrary," I countered, pleased at how rational I sounded. The fury was there, but banked for the moment. I sauntered forward, forcing him to retreat even more. "Your family has enough money to cover up any scandal. Besides, nobody here need know that she isn't dead. The papers will be filed in Wisconsin."

His eyes darted around as they had done before, but I didn't have to have Edward's gift to know he was now looking for an escape not from the room, but from the situation I had forced him into.

I stepped forward again and hovered over him. He looked up at me in terror, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, hair disheveled. There was nothing remotely handsome about him now.

I held his gaze for along moment. I could see him frantically seeking a solution, but I think the fear may have been distracting him.

He paused for a long moment, then his shoulders slumped. He muttered heavily, "As you wish."

I breathed out a small breath of relief. "Good," I said curtly.

I kicked his cane lightly over to him so that he could get up, and I moved past to wait for him in the parlor. I spread out the documents, laying out the top sheets of each bundle so that it was clear where he would have to sign. Four signatures from now, and Esme would be free. I would have her for my own.

Evenson was on his feet, but he still seemed to drag himself into the room. His eyes never left mine as he slowly approached the big desk. I held out my fountain pen to him; when he got close enough he took it with a shaking hand.

He leaned on his cane and bent over the first set of documents. His shaking hand didn't entirely mask his elegant script as he wrote out _Captain Charles Evenson_. I pursed my lips but didn't comment on his use of his military title.

"I thought I was rid of her," Evenson muttered, his eyes scanning down the second document. "It's better to be a widower than to be divorced…"

"And it's better to be a widow than a divorcee," I reminded him quietly.

"Always was more trouble than she was worth," he went on, signing his second signature. "Too damn independent and free-thinking. Not a proper wife at all."

"I'll take my chances," I murmured, satisfaction and anticipation rising in me as he progressed.

He moved on to the third set of papers. His eyes scanned up and down them. "What the hell is this?"

"That is an acknowledgement that you are the one at fault for breaking faith through acts of deliberate harm and violation of marriage vows," I explained, knowing the divorce decree by heart.

"God damn it!" he snapped. "I have to take the blame for this?"

"If you look over here on the last set," I said coolly, "you will see that she relinquishes all claims to any of your income or property. She doesn't want anything from you, Evenson."

He glanced down again and seemed to deliberate for a moment, then exhaled angrily and signed the third set of papers. His signature was less neat this time; he left the papers dented with the force.

"One more," I said, trying to contain my excitement. This chapter of Esme's life was almost closed. We could start our own chapter now.

I tapped the paper, prodding him to continue. He glared at me, and I stared back implacably. I wasn't giving any quarter, and he seemed to sense this, for he bent forward again and scrawled his name one last time.

"There!" he snarled, picking up the last set of papers and flinging them at me. I caught them, of course, and simply folded them neatly and slipped them back inside my coat pocket.

"Thank you," I said, smiling as politely as I could. Good manners could disguise many kinds of inappropriate reactions--such as rage and violence-- and never had I needed more than now to use them effectively. I still hated this man, but Esme would now be free of him, and, as I reminded myself, that was all I cared about.

Well, almost all.

"Don't forget," I said, walking slowly around the cherry desk and stopping in front of Evenson, "you are not to marry again. I will not have some other woman suffering what my Esme suffered at your hand."

_My Esme!_ My stone heart rang with the words.

"Your Esme!" he spat furiously. "Have her, then, and good riddance to her! I don't know what you want with a stupid, incompetent, bitch like that, but she's all yours, Dr. Cullen—"

I growled quietly, my temper rising, but controlled. "Watch yourself, Evenson."

"I should have known she'd ruin my life!" he ranted. "No tenderness, no care for me or what I've been through, just up and leaves, and jumps right into your bed. The goddamn slut opens her legs for the first rich man who comes along—"

The red haze of rage clouded my vision and my mind. My fist flew beyond my control and smashed into the side of his head.

Beneath my skin I felt shards of bone implant into the soft tissue of his brain as his skull shattered. His head whipped to the side, snapping his neck, and his body flew away from me to crash into the parlor wall ten feet behind him. He fell to the floor, arms splayed, legs bent unnaturally beneath him, dark blood hemorrhaging from his ears and nose into a pool beneath his broken face.

I stood crouched, waiting for him to rise, though I knew he would not. I wanted him to. Fierce satisfaction flowed through me and I wanted to let my fist fly again and again until there was nothing left of him but the bloody pulp he deserved to be.

My breath was coming fast, but I stopped it out of habit once the scent of blood hit the air. How _dare_ he speak of Esme like that?

I sucked in a breath between my teeth, feeling the burn in my throat as the pool of his blood spread in front of me. He was lucky it was fast, I thought regretfully. I was a doctor, I could think of many slower, more painful ways to kill him than trauma to the head. At least he was dead. I smiled at that most pleasant thought, letting several of those gruesome options dance through my imagination.

I straightened slowly, flexing my rock-hard hand, and then looked down at it.

Temper faded and realization hit. I continued to stare down at my hand and the smile faded from my face. I was a _doctor_. I had taken an oath to do no harm—and indeed, these hands had never been used for harm, only for good. I had made sure of that. I had spent almost three hundred years healing and helping to make up for the harm my kind caused wherever we went; I had never touched someone in selfishness or rage as I had done tonight.

I looked up at Evenson's shattered body. How many times had his fists bruised and broken Esme's delicate human body? What would Esme think of what I had done here?

The thought of Evenson using those fists on Esme sent a wave of shame through me. I swallowed hard, ignoring the burn in my throat. Was I any better than this man? Was I any less of a monster? Had I somehow deceived myself into thinking I deserved her any more than he did?

I don't know how long I stood there, but Evenson's blood was beginning to coagulate by the time I moved from my frozen stance. I gathered up the last of the documents and slid them with the others into my coat. Careful not to inhale the scent of his blood again, I stepped carefully around the body of the man I hated—even now. I walked down the elegant entry hall and out the door, shutting and locking it carefully behind me.

I walked in the direction of the train station, battered by the emotions that flooded through me. I was so ashamed that I couldn't make eye contact with anyone I passed. It was bad enough that I had broken every promise I had ever made to myself. It was worse that I had taken such vindictive delight in it. I knew that the potential for sadistic pleasure lay deep in the character of all of my kind, but I thought I had overcome it. I thought I was better than that.

I knew now that I was no better than anyone.

A few blocks away from Evenson's house, I scribbled a note and paid a boy to deliver it to the constable. I did not want the housekeeper or cook to be the ones to discover his corpse in the morning.

I bought a ticket, then sat numbly as the train took me away from my crime and ever closer to my love, and thought about what I had done.

20


	4. Epilogue

**For My Own**

**Epilogue**

I stepped off the train in Ashland and raised my hand to hail a cab, but then I thought the better of it. I was desperate to act civilized, to seem a true gentleman, not the masked creature I knew myself to be. Running home seemed too…supernatural. While at times I delighted in the speed, especially when Edward and I ran together and we pushed ourselves to the limits of our capabilities, this evening I wanted nothing more than to feel human.

But a human would have to drive that cab, and the last human to pull his vehicle into our lane hadn't fared well. Though I knew myself to be a failure, I still had to try to protect those under my care—and that meant protecting Esme and whatever human she might be tempted to harm while she endured the long process of gaining control.

But perhaps it was not Esme the humans should fear.

_Don't be ridiculous,_ I snapped at myself. _You are no more dangerous than you were before. One mistake hardly constitutes a spree._

But that was only partly true. In another man such as myself, another vampire, a mistake—costly as it was—would be regrettable, but understandable. I knew that I was always capable of killing as easily as I had done in Columbus. I was today equally as dangerous as I was yesterday, not more so.

_Edward, can you hear me?_

I shook my head in exasperation. How would I know if Edward could hear me, if I could not hear him? I hoped he couldn't hear me, because I did not want him to know what I had done.

The crime itself bothered me. I had vowed to do no harm, and had made it the work of a very long life to make better the things I touched, not worse. With my loss of temper, I had betrayed those vows. But worse than that, worse than having killed a man who richly deserved killing, was the terrible knowledge that I had found the place, deep in my soul, that I had pretended for so long didn't exist. The place where I would turn my back on my ideals in order to get what I wanted.

I discovered in Columbus that my selfishness was greater than my compassion.

I picked up my overnight bag and walked out of the station. I was not ready to go home, to face Esme and Edward, knowing they would be glad to see me. Knowing that Edward, at least, would know immediately what I had done. I could not bear their disappointment.

In any case, I had papers to file, and a short conversation with the judge convinced him to decree the divorce final immediately. I slid the new set of papers into my jacket where the old ones had been, thinking that they were no longer relevant, but determined to see the charade through to the end.

I walked through town and past the hospital, where they were expecting me to report for work again tomorrow. I glanced down at my hands again. How could I treat patients with these hands? I clenched my right hand into a fist and recalled perfectly the feel of Charles Evenson's skull shattering beneath the knuckles.

Perhaps I should not go to work tomorrow.

I walked on, keeping the hospital at my back. I could hear people speaking…doctors and nurses sharing information, loved ones whispering words of encouragement, chaplains murmuring prayers, newborn babies crying, overworked interns snoring in darkened rooms.

It wasn't for me any longer. I was no longer a life-saver, but a life-taker. I wondered what I would do with my time.

"_Dr. Cullen's not supposed to be back until tomorrow…" _

My head reflexively jerked up at the sound of my name.

"_Well, we need him, now! They just rang from the docks—"_

I caught the scent on the air, and wondered how I could have missed it. Smoke, mixed with the normal pollution that hung over the lake. Fire heating the air, even at this distance. The wood of the warehouses along the docks, sending sparks and shooting flames into the sky. The clanging sirens of the ambulances, the popping of the fire, mixed with the sounds of waves and seagulls.

"_I think he went out of town; I don't know if I can track him down…"_

"_There's no time to lose! The injured will be here shortly; we need all hands!"_

I looked down at my hands. _We need all hands._ I knew too well these hands could hurt, but surely that mistake—that _sin_—didn't negate the help my hands could bring, did it? Surely I had something to offer in this emergency…

_We need all hands…_

I turned and ran back to the hospital, moving at my natural speed, so fast no human could see me. I navigated the crowded halls to the physicians' locker room, threw my overnight bag into a locker and pulled on a white lab coat.

_Edward, can you hear me?_ I shouted mentally. _God, I hope so. There's been an emergency at the docks. I'm staying at the hospital to help. They need all hands…_

Even out in the country, Edward and Esme would hear the commotion coming from town; they would understand where I was even if Edward hadn't heard me just now. I dashed out of the locker room up the stairs to the operating wing.

"Dr. Cullen, you're here!" the head nurse exclaimed. "I was just telling Dr. Eilert—"

"Thank you, Rosemary," I interrupted. "Please ready ORs one and two, and get two nursing crews ready to assist. I want them waiting when I get back. Have my scrubs and Dr. Eilert's ready to go. We don't know what we've got, but we know it will be serious."

"Yes, doctor," Rosemary said efficiently, and ran in the direction of the operating rooms, shouting instructions as she went.

"Then call down to the burn unit and have as many sterilized and enclosed units readied as possible," I called after her. "We'll be filled to capacity. Hurry!"

"Yes, doctor!" she flung over her shoulder.

I raced down the stairwell again and arrived at the emergency room entrance just as the first ambulance was pulling up. Dr. Eilert was waiting at the doors, his face anxious and serious.

"Jack," I said, coming up behind him. "What have we got?"

"Carlisle!" he exclaimed in relief. "I thought you were out of town!"

"Just got in," I said. "I stopped by on the way from the station and found this—" I waved a hand around at the controlled chaos, "—waiting for me."

"Fire in some warehouse at the docks," Jack said briskly, turning back the way I'd just come from. "I'll go ready the ORs."

"Already done," I said.

Jack stopped in his tracks. He turned back and grinned, slapping a hand on my shoulder. "Damn, I'm glad you're back, Carlisle."

I returned his smile. "As am I."

Together my colleague and I turned to receive our patients.

Dr. Eilert worked a solid twenty-four hours before I forced him to go home. He protested, but acquiesced when I caught him nodding off over a broken leg.

"You'll be all right?" he asked, looking at me doubtfully as I took over the incision on the shattered leg. Most of the patients Jack and I saw were not burn victims, but stevedores who'd tried to jump from the upper floors rather than get trapped by the flames. This one would make it, but the healing process would be slow and painful.

"Yes," I assured him. "I'll catch a nap after this, then stay on until you get back. I might have another twelve in me."

"It must be pleasant to be so young," he muttered, sounding disgruntled.

I laughed behind my surgical mask. "I just got off holiday," I reminded him. "I've been saving up rest for just such an occasion."

Jack smiled wearily. "All right then," he agreed. "Back in twelve."

I finished the surgeries, then made rounds. It was only when the new shift of nurses started to eye me with suspicious concern that I let it be known that I was going to rest in the physicians' lounge for a few hours.

Of course, I didn't do that. I simply went to the burn unit to offer my assistance there. Most of the patients, if they were conscious, were in terrible pain, and it pained me to see it. They were being eaten up with infection, even in their sterile, tent-like beds. As I looked in on them, I could feel their raised temperatures, their accelerated heartbeats and labored breathing, and I knew with an instinct born of three centuries of practice who would live and who would die.

I reported back to surgery four hours later. It was a relief to be here; we fought infections, too, but at least there was something we could do for our patients, something we could fix. I stayed on duty until Dr. Eilert returned, exactly twelve hours after he had left.

"Take a break, Carlisle," Jack said. "You must be dead on your feet. You've been on for thirty-six hours solid."

Whether I was dead on my feet was a matter of debate, of course, but I was not tired. Still, I nodded. "I'll be back in twelve."

"Make it twenty-four," Jack said. "Things are slowing down here."

I hesitated, but nodded. No sane doctor would turn down a full day's rest, especially if his supervisor were offering it. And Jack was right; the only thing left to do now was to monitor the patients and try to stave off infections.

I stopped by the locker room to remove my bloody white coat. After a moment of hesitation, I decided to leave my bag; I didn't want to bother with it. The jacket I had worn a day and a half ago still hung there, the inner pocket bulging with the documents I had collected at the courthouse. I changed back into my traveling clothes and walked out the back door.

It was early morning, not quite dawn, and I could see already that the day would be sunny. I was lucky that Jack had released me when he did. The cool night air felt pleasant on my cold skin.

I walked away from the hospital at human speed. Again, as I had done thirty-six hours ago, I looked down at my hands. _We need all hands…_ They had needed mine. Though I knew I was capable of doing much more than simply healing with these hands, they had needed the skill and experience these hands represented.

Did a life-saver have to be sinless? Did a healer have to be perfect, to bring only healing and nothing else to everyone he encountered?

I had thought so. Just three days ago, I would have said that he should try to be exactly that.

How could a man live like that?

I knew the answer to that only too well. A man would live alone, and in two hundred eighty years, never let anyone close enough to tease out his temper, his temptation, his mistakes. Allowing oneself to love necessarily meant allowing one's flaws to rise to the surface.

I thought of Esme, and how she thought I had brought her a blessing by changing her nature. And I knew that I had brought blessing to dozens of patients in the last day and a half, and thousands more before that. And yes, I had been a curse to Charles Evenson, albeit a curse he brought on his own head.

I had killed a man with these hands, and still used them to save dozens of others.

_Perhaps,_ I thought, flexing my right hand, _I can only do my best in every situation. Perhaps I need not carry the burden of all my kind. Perhaps my sins are between myself and my God, and nobody else._

I thought of Edward. If he had committed the act I had committed, would I hold it against him, make him suffer forever for his crime? That was easy; Edward had slipped a time or two while we were still in Chicago, and I had simply tried to guide him toward stronger self-control.

I started to jog, slowly, but my eagerness to get home welled up in me. As I jogged in the twilight, breathing in the damp air from the lake, I heard a voice in my mind I wasn't expecting at all.

_Are you so much better than everyone else, my son, that you have no need of forgiveness?_

My father always did know how to bring me back to reality, especially when my own religious fervor made feel that my sins—how slight they were in those days!--were so much worse than anyone else's.

_Or are you so grand that your evil is greater even than God's mercy? That is wretched, indeed. Satan should fear that you will dethrone him..._

I ran faster. My desire to see my son and my mate began to burn in me, a fierce joy that would brook no caution.

_You are simply a man, Carlisle...a good one, but not a perfect one. Repent of your sin, seek forgiveness, do better next time, and trust in God, as we all must do._

I searched my heart as I ran, the lake to my back, the trees whipping around me. Was I sorry Charles Evenson was dead?

No.

Was I sorry that he had died by my hand? Was I truly repentant for what I had done?

Yes. Mostly. I could not deny the satisfaction that I had taken in the act, but it had been wrong. It was wrong to take another's life, and as deeply as I believed that, that was what I had done. So, yes, I was truly repentant.

My joy, my gratitude, my compassion for the suffering, my love for my family..._my family! _I thought exultantly...were these things greater than the guilt, horror, despair and disgust that I felt for myself?

I thought about this one long and hard, and felt the smile spread slowly across my face.

Yes. Yes! No force, no feeling, no regret was stronger than the love I felt for my family. No guilt could touch the compassion and satisfaction I felt during one shift among the suffering in the hospital.

It had not been my place to decide whether Charles Evenson should live or die, but I would be damned—and I felt it was literally true—if I would let him take one more thing from Esme or her family.

I could smell our home. Paint, freshly sawn lumber, flowers, and the distinctive scents of my mate and my son. I inhaled deeply. It was the scent of a home, my home, and I felt I could find it effortlessly from anywhere in the world.

The screen door opened and slammed shut. I was only a few miles away.

"Welcome home, Carlisle," Edward murmured.

The trees were thinning, the woods growing brighter.

"We've missed you," Esme said.

I ran faster and broke through the treeline. Edward and Esme stood on the porch, his arm around her shoulder. The sight brought me a deep joy.

My sins were between me and my God, and I would not think of them again.

But my joy, my gratitude and my love were between me and my family. I would think of those always.

"Esme!" I shouted. I bounded onto the newly built porch and wrapped my arms around her waist, spinning her in a circle. She laughed breathlessly and returned my embrace, clinging to me until I set her back on her feet.

I released her and turned to Edward, then slipped into a crouch and tackled him. He only had a fraction of a second to prepare himself, and we rolled, laughing down the porch steps and across the grass.

I pinned him. "I win!"

He chuckled. "I let you win."

I jumped up and ran back to Esme. Edward got to his feet and lingered behind me, unsure if he should give us privacy. I shifted so that he was included in the conversation.

This was the part where I had to be careful. I thought of my trip to Columbus, my conversation with Evenson, his resentment at signing the papers. And that was all.

"I don't know this will mean to you what it means to me," I said to Esme. "Edward thinks I've lost my mind."

Edward snickered and stepped closer, and I laughed in response. Truly, I had never felt joy like this. It was making me giddy.

"What is it, Carlisle?" Esme asked, her eyes bright with the contagious joy I was exuding.

All thoughts, even the guarded ones, fled as she said my name. I attempted to calm myself, concentrating on my breathing as I slowly withdrew the papers from my coat.

I smoothed them out and handed them to her. She looked down at them, her eyebrows drawn in puzzlement.

I was suddenly nervous and ran a hand through my hair. Edward rolled his eyes.

"Esme," I said, sounding too formal and stiff and, in my own ears, slightly ridiculous. But I had come this far... "Esme, you are now a free woman in every possible way. There is nothing in the eyes of God or man that can keep you from doing what you want to do, or going where you want to go."

"Oh, Carlisle," she breathed. "Is this where you went? You didn't have to... I don't know what to say..." She took a deep breath and looked up at me, her eyes blazing crimson, but tender for all that. "I didn't need this, Carlisle, though I do thank you. You see, once my son died the last tie between me and this man was broken. He had no hold on me."

I knew that, of course, but it was so good, better than I could have imagined, to hear her say so.

Edward came to stand by us. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked at Esme. "You didn't need it, but he did."

Esme looked back up at me and gave me that gentle, knowing smile. "Of course you did," she said. She folded the papers and slid them into the pocket of her trousers. She took my hands in hers. "Thank you. I feel free."

"And I would never curtail that freedom, Esme," I said. Her name whispered itself delightfully through my mind..._EsmeEsmeEsmeEsmeEsme_.... "But now I am going to ask you to curtail it yourself, of your own free will."

"What do you mean?" Esme asked.

"I think I should go inside," Edward murmured, backing away from us.

I looked up. "Please don't," I said, looking him in the eye.

He sighed and nodded. I turned back to Esme.

"Will you marry me, Esme?" I asked solemnly. "Will you bind yourself to me and let me love you forever? Will you be my mate and my partner and a mother to our family? I have loved you since I first saw you, and I want you for my own."

"Oh, Carlisle!" She threw her arms around my neck and began to rain kisses on my face. I laughed and wrapped my arms around her again. "I want you for my own, too!"

"I think I'll just be going in the house..." Edward said, backing away slowly. He looked happy, but embarrassed, and I laughed again.

Esme untangled herself from me. "Oh, no you don't!" she said, slipping an arm around Edward's waist. "You're part of this. We're a family..."

She said the word with such reverence that Edward's discomfort dissipated, and he bent down to kiss her forehead. Esme reached out her hand for me and drew me closer and for a moment, the three of us stood joined, connected by the woman at our center. The woman who would be my wife and a mother to Edward and any other children God sent our way.

I bent down and kissed Esme, and she strained up against me, even as she refused to let go of Edward.

"Edward?" I murmured against Esme's lips.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Why don't you go inside and leave your mother and me alone?"

This time he snickered. "Sure, Dad. Whatever you say."

He slipped out of Esme's arm and retreated back through the screen door. Esme wrapped both arms around me and I pulled her close, opening my mouth and kissing her as I had dreamed of doing for so long.

My dream was reality. The path wasn't entirely smooth, but it led here, to my home and my family. And I had Esme for my own.

13

13


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